


home is where the heart is

by libraryphiliac



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Children, Family, Family Drama, POV Second Person, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-15
Updated: 2012-12-15
Packaged: 2017-11-21 04:29:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/593469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/libraryphiliac/pseuds/libraryphiliac
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wherein Louis and his sisters find home in Holmes Chapel, in the form of a curly-haired boy and his family.</p>
            </blockquote>





	home is where the heart is

**Author's Note:**

> So I got this idea about three and a half months ago, wrote this about three months ago, and started writing the next part a week ago. See how my perception of time is?
> 
> (Anyhow, I just wanted to post this here so all the stuff I call my writing can be found collectively. Cheers.)

Your feet are hurting.

You sigh wearily as you hear one of the twins stumbles, falls over, cries, and you push your fringe out of your eyes and rub your face weakly, as if doing so could wipe all your worries and problems away, and nod at Lottie, who immediately takes the hands of Felicity and the uninjured twin – you see that it’s Daisy who’s fallen over, taking in the small mole near her right temple as a reminder – while you go over to the sobbing child, murmuring soothing nonsense into her ear, rubbing her back carefully and kissing the top of her head.

_Shh, shh, hush now, Daisy, it’s only a small cut, baby, come on, shh, you’re braver than that…_

Eventually, Daisy stops sniffling, and holds your hand tightly while you clean the wound as best as you can with your slightly smudged handkerchief, the both of you wincing as you dab at the cut and she tightens her hold on your fingers. _Sorry, I’m sorry, baby, big brother’s sorry…_

Finished with the wound, you stand up, carrying Daisy, and you see Lottie has been watching you, her eyes filled with worry, while she tries to stop Phoebe from crying along with her twin, and Fizzy is attempting to distract the little girl. Phoebe and Fizzy are sitting on a bench in what looks like a park – you didn’t notice the park when you first stopped, and you see that the park’s ever-so-originally named Holmes Chapel Park – and Fizzy manages to make Phoebe look away from the two of you, although she is holding her knee at the exact same spot where Daisy has been cut, and Lottie glances at the two of them before going to you and Daisy. You meet halfway, you still rubbing comforting circles on Daisy’s back as she hiccups a bit here and there.

“Louis,” Lottie says urgently. “It’s already six pm, and we’ve been walking for ages. We have to rest. We haven’t even eaten lunch yet, and the people are looking at us funny. And I think Fizz has a fever.”

You sigh again, feeling your stomach rumble at the mention of food – your meager breakfast seems so long ago – and try to think of a way to get provisions without resorting to crime. You glance around, try to see if there are any convenience stores nearby, but what’s the use of a store when you don’t have money to buy anything with? You go over to the others, checking Felicity’s forehead, and sure enough, it’s a bit hotter than normal, and you see that she’s tired, although she tries her best not to show it with how she swats your hand away. “’M fine,” she mutters, burying her face in Phoebe’s hair, who is sitting on her lap, looking at Daisy and appearing as if deciding whether to cry or not; fortunately, she chooses not to.

Lottie has trailed behind you, watching you assess Fizzy’s condition, and as you slump down on the bench because _of course someone has to be ill right now; of fucking course_ , she gathers Daisy from you and mirror’s Fizzy and Phoebe’s position, placing the now-almost-asleep girl on her lap, except she doesn’t bury her face in Daisy’s hair. No; she looks at you, watches you as you try to think of a way – _any_ way – to help your sisters, to fix everything. She knows it’s on the impossible side of things right now, hopeless, but she’s still young enough to hold out on the _my-big-brother-can-solve-anything_ view she’s got on you, which you know isn’t true, no, not at all, because even though you’d hoped and prayed that it would be, everything is in shambles right now, fallen to pieces, and it kills you every time you see one of your sisters look at you like that, and know in your very heart that there’s almost nothing you can do for them right now.

Lottie sees you won’t – can’t – do anything, so she says, “Maybe we can… beg?”

You glare at her, say _Do we look that desperate?_ but you know that you do, even as she glares right back at you and snaps, “Well, I don’t see you coming up with anything!”

You sigh again, and look straight ahead, don’t want to see her accusing eyes, with something like betrayal in them too, because her brother isn’t solving anything, or the way Phoebe and Daisy have both fallen asleep sucking their thumbs, as if it could do anything to ease the hunger that was clawing at all your stomachs, or hear Fizzy’s slightly labored breathing, even as she’s trying to hide it. _Okay,_ you say in a hard voice. _We sleep here for now, in the park, and we look for money tomorrow morning. We won’t beg,_ you add shooting a tiny glare at your eldest sister, _but we’ll do the best we can._ Lottie gives a hard nod, obviously not satisfied, but she seems to understand that there really is nothing you can do anymore, so she concedes.

You pass the time at the park, doing nothing, just roaming about mindlessly, while you try to think of ways to help yourselves, ways to get food, medicine, shelter… You tell Fizzy to go to sleep, already, so she doesn’t get worse, and at first she protests (“I’m fine, Louis, _seriously!_ ”), but now you see she’s tucked up into herself on the park bench, clothes wrapped tightly around her small body, so she must feel shoddier than she’s let on. You frown in concern, brows furrowing, and you stand up and go to where she’s lying, kneeling and pressing a hand to her forehead. 

_Holy shit._

It’s hot, far too hot to be healthy, and you curse again as Fizzy shifts uneasily and mumbles something incoherent. Her eyes flutter open. “Louis?”

_Shit, ah, sorry, Fizzy, you’re burning up–_

“What’s happening?” Lottie’s come over, hearing the sort-of panicked note in your voice (no, you’re not panicking, but try finding out that your sister has a temperature that’s so much hotter than normal in a situation where you can’t get any help – try not freaking out in that), and you glance up long enough to take in that the twins have finally fallen asleep next to each other, on one of the other benches, curled up around each other and looking adorable as fuck, then you turn back to Fizzy.

_I don’t know, L, her fever’s worsened, I…_

Lottie looks at you, and her expression tells you that if something bad happens to anyone today, because of you, she will never forgive you; she still loves you, but she’ll never be able to look to you in the same way ever again if you _fail_ this, like it’s some sort of test or something.

So you steel yourself into big brother mode and say to Lottie, _Okay, you look after them for a while, L, I’ll go around doors, see if there’s anyone who’s, I don’t know, willing to help other people… Just, stay here, and I’ll be back_ like you’re some sort of superhero, some sort of huge champion who can go around saving everybody, when really, you’re nothing more than a teenage boy who’s roaming around the country, in fucking Cheshire, thrust with the responsibility of taking care of siblings that weren’t even his full blood.

But you’ve always had a flair for dramatics, despite how dire things are, so you hope what you’re thinking doesn’t really have any real meaning for you, and with one last look at your sisters  _–_ Lottie has her hand on Fizzy’s forehead again, murmuring to her while she shifts around, looking uncomfortable and slightly in pain, and the twins are sleeping peacefully side by side, and you hope they don’t wake up within the time it takes for you to get back, because Lottie really doesn’t deserve that, wonderful girl that she is  _–_ you go around the town, looking for a building that seems nice enough, that’s still open at this time of the night (your watch says it’s past 10). You pass by closed shops, homes that are dark and ready for sleep, and you look at them with a churning in your stomach, because not even a month or so ago, that was your life too, how you lived, and you took it all for granted and now it’s _gone_ , gone like everything you’ve ever known, which is funny, because that life back then was already everything you’ve ever known, and you don’t really even know how the fuck you ended up in Cheshire when you’re from Doncaster, and now it’s been ripped away from you, and the only thing you have now is your sisters.

You stop in the middle of the road, looking around. There’s nothing much to see, just trees and greenery and old buildings and stuff  _–_ if it was daylight you suspect the town would be quite picturesque, but as it is, you can’t make out anything yet. The houses are all dark and seem unwilling to give out a helping hand, but what are you if not persistent? So you trudge up along the road again, eyes out for anything useful, but you don’t see anything that can be of help for you, unless you were willing to become a criminal, which you’re not. You’ve almost given up hope and start to go back to the park when you see a small light, somewhere near the main road, and you wonder why you weren’t able to see it at first, but then you realize the light probably wasn’t turned on until now  _–_ and anyway, that’s irrelevant, because you’ve finally found an open house, so to speak, and you sure as hell won’t let up the chance to somehow get help now.

You rush over to the house (which isn’t really just a house; you see it’s a bakery too, with the name HC BAKERY  _– originality, where art thou –_ posted in green on a large wooden board above the doorway. Probably to give it a more scenic effect that fits right along with the town theme.) and sigh in relief when you get there and see the lights are still on, which for you means there’s still people who are awake, who might be willing to lend him a hand. You decide to make yourself look a bit pathetic (which really isn’t that hard; days without a proper shelter do that to you), to squeeze out as much sympathy from whoever will answer the door, and you raise your hand to knock on the door and you  _– hesitate._

 _Why? Why are you hesitating?_ you ask yourself. Then you realize why: you’re too prideful. You don’t want to go about random people’s houses, knocking on their doors for charity and whatnot. You don’t. You don’t belong here, and you might’ve not been rich before, but you certainly weren’t in the need to go about asking for help. You almost go back then, leave the house alone and your sense of pride intact, when scenes flash behind your eyes: your mother, pushing your hair back when you were seven and saying, “Oh, baby, you have to apologize, even if the other person did you wrong too.” after he had punched a kid in the face for saying he was a weirdo with no dad. Your stepfather, talking to your mum and wiping his face, exhaustedly, murmuring in an undertone that you shouldn’t have been able to hear, but you were. “Why can’t Louis accept me? I’ve been here for almost half his life, and he’s still giving me the cold shoulder, still unreceptive to my tries  _–_ and I _do_ try, I do, and you know that, don’t you, Jay?” And your mother replies “Yes, yes, I know, darling, just give him some time, please, he’s growing up, and he’s had so many changes in his life,” rubbing soothing circles into her husband’s back; much like the way you did with Daisy a while ago, you realize now. And another scene pops back into his head, more of an image, really: his last look at his sisters today, a while ago, before you left them to _look for bloody help._ With a jolt, you realize too that you haven’t still done anything to fucking _help_ your sisters, and instead you’re sitting here on your arse, feeling fucking sorry for yourself, when the children that’s all that’s left for you are fucking in need of help, and you want to punch yourself, kick yourself, for being so bloody stupid, but instead you stand up and knock on the door.

For a few moments, there’s nothing, and then you hear steps on the other side, and a slight rustling about, and the door opens to a kindly-looking woman, who looks about thirty to forty-ish, her expression one of surprise and confusion, but not one that might befit a person who rejects someone who knocks at their door in the middle of the night.

“Yes, dear?”

You steel yourself before replying.

You’re eighteen years old, and your mother has just died, and your father’s dead, and your stepfather’s god knows where, and your sisters are in the park, one burning to death (you hope not really), waiting for you. You’re Louis, son, brother, student (not really, anymore, though), and you will help your family and push your god damn pride aside when it’s not needed, whatever it takes. So you give your most innocent-but-brave-and-to-be-pitied-upon-sort-of-smile to the woman, and you say, _Hello, my name’s Louis, and I kinda need your help, if you can, please?_


End file.
